


Man on the Bridge/Shielding a Candle in the Winds of Change

by Talvenhenki



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Car Accidents, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Abuse, Recovery, Suicide Attempt, abuse recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27819025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talvenhenki/pseuds/Talvenhenki
Summary: Porthos meets a man contemplating suicide on a bridge. Bringing the man home to help him, Porthos uncovers a past of abuse and a dire need for help.Helping Aramis, Porthos learns new things of himself, of life, and of love.A story of ends, beginnings, and the will to live.
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay/Porthos du Vallon, Past Aramis/Marsac
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Man on the Bridge/Shielding a Candle in the Winds of Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enigma_TM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigma_TM/gifts).
  * Inspired by [When the Winds of Change Blow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12304626) by [Talvenhenki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talvenhenki/pseuds/Talvenhenki). 



> Guys, this whole rewrite was originally inspired by Enigma_TM's ask on tumblr telling me that _When the Winds of Change Blow_ is their favourite work of mine and since I felt like it was lacking in many things, I decided to completely rewrite it, and this monstrosity was born. This story is longer than my _BA paper_ and I wrote the story in 1/8 of the time it took me to write my BA paper. Crazy, huh?
> 
> Warnings for all things tagged and general discussions of difficult topics like abuse, suicide, and recovery. Nothing graphic here, though.

If there was a look that Porthos knew to be bad, it was the look of a man wanting to jump off a bridge. The way Aramis looked at the waters of the Seine almost looked like the last desperate call for help. As if he was begging for a passer-by to notice him, to stop him from jumping. His knuckles were almost white with the force he was using to grip the railing of the bridge he was standing on. For a moment, Porthos feared that he wouldn’t reach the other man in time, that he would jump before Porthos could stop him.

Porthos reached him just in time. When Aramis tried to swing his leg over the railing, Porthos gently placed his hand over Aramis’ wrist. Aramis turned to look at Porthos and, for a moment, he looked truly afraid before he could recognise Porthos.

“Don’t”, Porthos breathed, “don’t jump. Please, Aramis.”

After a moment of careful consideration, Aramis said, “I can’t win if you decide to stop me.” With that, he dropped his leg back down, and retreated for a few steps, looking down. “What will you do now?” he asked softly.

“Well, ideally I’d like for you to see a doctor for acute suicidal ideation”, Porthos said, scratching his head, “but the clinic I know is closing and I don’t want to leave you alone to an ER. I might have to take you home –”

“No!” Aramis snapped. “Not home. If my partner finds out, he’ll…I think he’ll kill me!”

Porthos held out his hands, hoping to calm Aramis even a little. “Okay, not your place. How about mine? I live with a friend, but I don’t think he’ll mind. Athos is cool like that. It’s a bit of a hike, but I promise you’ll be safe there.”

Aramis nodded. He was still avoiding Porthos’ eyes, and Porthos noticed his jaw trembling. He was also sporting a bruise on his left temple and a split lower lip. Anger boiled in Porthos’ chest. How did that damned partner of Aramis’ dare to hurt the poor man? Porthos brushed his fingers over Aramis’ left shoulder but pulled his hand away immediately, as Aramis jumped in surprise.

“I’m sorry”, Porthos mumbled. “Can I take your hand?”

Aramis shook his head. “I’ll follow you.”

“Alright”, Porthos said, “just make sure not to get lost.”

Aramis nodded. He allowed Porthos to walk a few steps before following at just an arm’s length away. For a while, the two walked in complete silence, which felt extremely uncomfortable for Porthos who liked to talk with the people he was around. Alone, he had no problem being silent, but with others, he preferred to have at least some sort of small talk.

“You weren’t at the self-defence class two days ago”, Porthos said, trying to sound friendly instead of worried, “was something wrong?”

“Broken wrist.”

“Ouch, that sounds painful. Did you get it looked at?”

“Marsac made sure to apply some bandages.”

Marsac. That was the name of Aramis’ partner who abused him. Porthos’ friend d’Artagnan had signed Aramis up to Porthos’ self-defence class in hopes of getting Aramis to fight back, or even better, leave Marsac for good. What Aramis failed to say was that Marsac had probably been the cause for his broken wrist in the first place. Porthos was firmly of the opinion that Marsac and his kind should rot in hell for the pain they caused to innocents like Aramis.

“He’s good at that sort of stuff”, Aramis insisted, clearly having noted Porthos’ silence. “He knows how to help me when I mess up.”

“If you say so”, Porthos said. He wasn’t going to scare Aramis away by starting an argument before Aramis was at Porthos’ and his injuries could be looked at. Perhaps Constance could come over to help. She was Aramis’ co-worker and knew him better than Athos or Porthos.

After that, the two fell into a silence. It took them about fifteen minutes to walk to the fancy apartment building where Porthos lived with his friend Athos. It was only thanks to Athos that Porthos could live in the 4th arrondissement in a fancy apartment – Athos was, in his own words, _filthy rich_ and wasn’t afraid to use his inherited wealth to house his friend.

“Here”, Porthos said as he opened the front door, “do you want to use the elevator or the stairs?”

“Elevator”, Aramis mumbled, “my knee can’t handle the stairs.”

His _knee_? Porthos didn’t know anything about a knee injury. Aramis had always done whatever the self-defence class required, and Porthos had clearly told the participants to let him know if they had some sort of an injury that might hinder their movement. Was it a recent injury, or had Aramis chosen not to mention it in hopes of hurting himself?

In the elevator neither man said anything. Aramis was still stubbornly avoiding Porthos’ eyes and Porthos still felt concerned, though he tried not to appear overly so. Aramis was in a fragile state and one wrong move could scare him away. There was simply no telling what would happen if Aramis ran away while still in that state.

“There we go”, Porthos said when they reached Athos and his apartment. He opened the door and let Aramis enter before going in himself. “I think Athos is home. I’ll explain to him what happened; I’m sure he won’t have any complaints about you staying over for some time. How about you wait in the living room? It’s right over there.”

Aramis nodded and walked away. Porthos stayed in the hallway long enough to see Aramis sit down on the sofa. Then, Porthos shook his head and entered the kitchen where he’d seen Athos a moment earlier.

“Who is that?” Athos asked quietly. He was often blunt to a fault, but he knew when to keep his voice down enough to not insult someone.

“That’s Aramis”, Porthos explained, “the man I told you about. I was walking on Pont de Bercy when I saw him. I think he was trying to kill himself. He tried to jump off.”

Athos looked inside the living room to see Aramis better. He was pressing his hands together and he trembled ever so slightly. “Why did you bring him here?”

“I couldn’t leave him to an ER alone”, Porthos muttered, “and he didn’t want to go home. His partner…that man is abusive. He’s been hitting Aramis for years. Constance has been worried sick for years!”

“And you want to fix him?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Porthos shook his head. “No…I want to give him somewhere safe to live. I can’t stand the idea of him suffering. I want him to recover and find someone who doesn’t make him miserable.”

Athos looked at Porthos for a moment, probably trying to find traces of deception in him. When he didn’t find any, he sighed and nodded. Aramis would get to stay for the time being.

“I’ll talk to him”, Athos said, standing up. “You should go make the guest room bed for him.”

Athos walked in the living room and knelt down in front of Aramis. The poor man was still trembling – he was probably in a state of shock. Athos tilted his head to study Aramis’ face; he was very beautiful under all those bruises. His hair was long, reaching his shoulders, and it perfectly obscured his face. Was it his own choice, or had Marsac told him to grow it out to hide his beauty? Athos couldn’t tell.

“Hello, Aramis”, Athos said, “my name is Athos. Porthos explained everything – you’re welcome to stay here. Is there anything we should know about you? Any allergies or medications you need?”

Aramis shook his head. “No. No medications. I’m fighting fit.”

Athos didn’t quite agree, but he decided against voicing his opinion. At the present, Aramis’ comfort was more important than Athos’ opinions about him. A discussion about Aramis’ definition of “fighting fit” would have to wait for another day.

Porthos chose that moment to walk into the living room. “I’ve made the guest room bed for you”, he said. “Have you had anything to eat? It’s well past lunchtime, but I thought I’d make some afternoon snack for us if you two are hungry.”

Aramis nodded. “I haven’t had anything since breakfast. Figured I don’t need lunch anyway, since I’d be gone soon after.”

Porthos’ face fell. Aramis seemed to notice it, because he hurried to explain, “you see, when you die, your bowels automatically empty themselves. I didn’t want to contaminate the Seine any further than necessary.”

“Goodness”, Athos mumbled, raising his eyebrows, “I didn’t know about that.”

Aramis looked down at his knees, almost looking ashamed of himself. Athos sighed, placing his hand over Aramis’ hands in hopes of calming him a little. To his surprise, it worked – Aramis’ hands relaxed a little, but continued trembling.

“Do you have anything you’d like to eat, Aramis?” Porthos asked, trying to keep sounding cheerful. “Maybe something you used to have as a kid? I might not be a master chef, but I can try to make whatever it is that you’d like to have.”

“ _Tortilla_ ”, Aramis breathed, “ _tortilla de patatas_. My mother used to make it for me and my sisters whenever one of us was sad or sick.”

Porthos smiled. “That is a perfect comfort food. Do you want for me to add any ham or should we just do a plain version?”

“Plain sounds good”, Aramis said, “I’m not very hungry.”

Porthos nodded and retreated into the kitchen. Athos stayed with Aramis and picked up the book he’d been reading earlier. Aramis didn’t seem very sociable at the moment, so Athos figured he could simply keep Aramis company by existing in the same space as him. It was probably for the better to not bomb him with questions about his abusive partner before Aramis had even settled in.

Soon the smell of cooking potatoes filled the living room. Porthos was humming, as he always did while cooking. Aramis looked up, and Athos saw a wave of emotion on his face. It was difficult to tell what he was feeling, seeing as he only looked incredibly lost.

“Don’t worry”, Athos said softly, “Porthos rarely messes up when he makes food. It might not be exactly the same as your mother’s tortilla, but he’ll try his best to make it as comforting as he can. He has a big heart and the cooking skills of a master.”

Aramis nodded, returning his gaze at his knees. Athos returned to his book, trusting Aramis to speak up if he needed anything. It was a tricky business, trying not to bother someone overly much, but at the same time wanting them to feel welcome.

It definitely was not Athos’ strength.

When Porthos emerged from the kitchen with a perfect _tortilla de patatas_ , Athos secretly felt incredibly grateful. No matter how much he preferred quiet over small talk – or heaven forbid, mindless chatter – the silence between him and Aramis had felt suffocating. Perhaps Athos wasn’t as good with silence as he’d thought.

“The meal is done!” Porthos announced, placing the frying pan on the dining table. “Athos, can you help me set out the dishes? Come to the table, Aramis; maybe the food will make you feel a bit better!”

Aramis nodded and walked over to the dining table, sitting on the seat Porthos pulled out for him. Athos brought out the dishes, and Porthos brought some water to drink during the meal. Aramis didn’t have to move a muscle, which seemed foreign to him.

“Eat up!” Porthos said, clapping his hands together. “I hope I made it right. I’ve made _tortilla_ only a few times before today.”

“That’s a few more than most people in France”, Aramis whispered. Athos raised his eyebrows at the comment – it wasn’t quite a compliment, but it almost showed something of Aramis’ character beside his misery and his attempts not to bother others with it.

Aramis took a bite and chewed it carefully. A wave of emotion flashed on his face again, but he hid it before either Athos or Porthos could react to it. Eating another mouthful, Aramis’ eyes grew glassy and he stubbornly tried to blink away the emotion, but after having swallowed the third mouthful, the tears broke out. Aramis put down his fork and knife and covered his mouth as a whimper escaped from his throat.

Athos, who was closer to Aramis, scooted over to hug him. He placed one hand over Aramis’ neck and allowed Aramis to rest his forehead on his shoulder. He gently shushed Aramis as he cried over Athos’ shoulder.

“It’s alright now, Aramis”, Athos breathed, “it’s alright. You’re safe now. We won’t expect you to do anything you can’t do. It’s alright.”

Porthos scooted over and began rubbing Aramis’ back. Aramis trembled with the force of every sob that tore through him which made Porthos feel incredibly sad for him. He didn’t know exactly what had caused this breakdown – the food or the kindness perhaps? – but he knew that whatever it had been, Aramis had desperately needed it.

“I’m sorry”, Aramis whispered, “I’ll be okay in a minute, I just…I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s alright”, Athos said, “you have nothing to be sorry for. Just let it out and then you can continue eating. It’s better to get the bad feelings out while they’re still fresh; that way they don’t fester.”

Aramis nodded against Athos’ shoulder. He was still trembling, but the sobs had turned into quiet sniffles. Athos rubbed his back, trying to offer some wordless comfort in the way he knew – Athos wasn’t a master at comforting people, but he at least tried his best.

When Aramis eventually calmed down, he pulled away, stubbornly avoiding Athos’ eyes. His cheeks were red, and the tear tracks made him a sorry sight. Not to mention the red eyes and his trembling jaw.

“Eat up, Aramis”, Porthos said softly, “you need your strength. And have a plenty of water; can’t have you drying out from spilling so many tears.”

Aramis nodded and began eating with newfound will. Porthos found himself feeling proud of Aramis and the force with which he hung onto his own life. It reinforced Porthos’ theory that Aramis hadn’t necessarily wanted to die, but to find a way out of the hell he’d been living in. Whatever Marsac had done to Aramis, it had to have been something infernal.

“I hope the _tortilla_ is good enough”, Porthos said, smiling hopefully.

Aramis nodded; his mouth was full of food. Porthos smiled at him and cut another slice of the omelette for Aramis, placing it on his plate. Aramis definitely needed some food to regain his strength, especially if he hadn’t had anything since the breakfast.

Swallowing, Aramis whispered, “I like it. It tastes nostalgic, kind of like home.”

Porthos grinned proudly. “I’m glad.”

When they were done eating, Athos retreated into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Porthos joined Aramis in the living room and turned on the TV to cause some background noise. Aramis was partly curled in himself, hugging his legs against his chest, but he also leaned his weight slightly on Porthos. When Athos joined them as well, he picked up his book – _Good Omens_ by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman – and continued reading it silently.

“When you were on the bridge”, Porthos began tentatively, “did you send anyone a message before you – before you tried to jump?”

Aramis nodded. “I sent ones to my family. And Constance, my employer, to tell her why I couldn’t show up for work on Monday. I…I threw my phone in the Seine after that.”

Porthos sighed and placed a hand on Aramis’ back. “Do you want to call anyone? You can use my phone.”

“I know I should call my family”, Aramis said, “but I don’t know what to tell them. That hi, mom and dad, I’m alive! That I failed in the one final task I had set to myself. That their only son is a disappointment to everyone? No, I don’t think I can speak to them yet.”

Porthos frowned. “How about I call them? If you give me one of their number and I explain them what happened today; that could give you some distance and your family would know that you have not succeeded in…succeeded in trying to take your life.”

Aramis carefully considered Porthos’ suggestion. Whatever fights he had had with his family thanks to Marsac, they wouldn’t be solved with just one phone call, but it might at least give Aramis’ family some hope of a better relationship with him. Porthos was of the opinion that Aramis’ family should at least know that he was alive if nothing else. Of Aramis’ opinion, he had no idea.

“Yeah”, Aramis said eventually, “I think you should call them. I’ll give you my father’s number; he’s very level-headed and will not have freaked out. I hope he won’t have, anyway.”

Porthos nodded and handed his phone over to Aramis who tapped his father’s number into the screen for Porthos to make the call. The line beeped for a few times before it was picked up.

“ _Oscar d’Herblay speaking._ ”

“Hello”, Porthos said, “I’m Porthos du Vallon. I’m calling you in regards of your son, Aramis –” a quiet gasp sounded from the other end of the line “– who is currently staying with me and my friend.”

“ _He’s alive?_ ” Oscar whispered, clearly shocked. “ _How is he?_ ”

“Well…” Porthos looked at Aramis, who was still curled into himself. “Far from ideal. Physically, he looks alright, but mentally…I’d say he needs time. I didn’t want to leave him to some cold ER after finding him on Pont de Bercy, which is why I took him to my place. He’s…he’s very fragile.”

“ _Can I talk to him?_ ”

Porthos rubbed his eyes. “Let me ask him.” Moving the phone away, he turned to Aramis. “Do you think you can talk to your dad?”

Aramis looked up at Porthos with an alarmed look in his eyes. For a moment, he could only stare at Porthos, before slowly nodding at him. Porthos gave him an encouraging smile and returned to the phone.

“He says yes. I’ll give the phone to him.”

Porthos handed the phone over and Aramis accepted it, pressing it against his ear. “Hello?” he said softly, sounding very uncertain. “Papa, it’s me, Aramis. I’m here. I’m…I’m alright.”

For a moment, Aramis was quiet, listening what his father had to say. His eyes glistened, and he tried to blink them to get rid of the tears that were pooling in his eyes. Porthos placed his hand on Aramis’ shoulder, giving him some wordless support.

“Yes, papa”, Aramis breathed, “yes. I’ll leave him, I promise. I…I’ll have to get my stuff from him first, but after that you can evict him if you don’t want him to keep living in the apartment you own…Yes. I promise. I won’t stray back this time. This time I have someone to go back to. Someone who is not Marsac. I promise, papa.”

Aramis listened for a moment again, and suddenly looked very lost. “I…I don’t know. You should ask Porthos and Athos. It’s their home.”

“If they want to come over to see you, they’re most welcome”, said Athos, who had opened his laptop, “right, Porthos? Any time they want, like for example dinner tomorrow.”

Porthos nodded, to which Aramis smiled gratefully. “They say it’s alright. Athos suggested that you come over for dinner tomorrow. I’ll ask Porthos to text you the address and when you can come.”

Aramis gave the phone back to Porthos who kept talking with Oscar for a bit. Aramis curled back into a foetal position, pressing his forehead against his knees, trembling. When Porthos ended the phone call, he pressed his hand on Aramis’ back.

“Hey”, Porthos said, “you did great.”

Aramis shook his head. “No, I was stupid to promise I can do it this time. I always promise him that I’ll leave Marsac, but when I actually try, he somehow convinces me to stay. I was a fool when I promised my dad that I can do it.”

“We can support you, if you need us to”, said Athos, still on his laptop, “do you prefer Apple or Android?”

“Thank y – _what?_ ”

Athos looked up from the computer screen to see Aramis look at him with an expression of surprise. “I’m buying you a new phone. What manufacturer do you prefer?”

“I’ve always used Samsung”, Aramis mumbled, still confused, “but why on earth are you getting me a new phone?”

“Because I’m filthy rich and you need a phone”, Athos explained matter-of-factly. When Aramis showed no signs of understanding the reasoning behind Athos’ words, Porthos let out a chuckle, and patted Aramis’ back a few times.

“That’s just how Athos expresses his love”, Porthos said, chuckling. “And about Marsac, we really can support you if you need us to. Since you need to pick up your stuff, I was thinking of tomorrow morning. I can come with you to carry stuff. What about you, Athos?”

Athos nodded. “I’ll come too. Marsac will have to go through me and Porthos. And don’t worry about Marsac trying to get you to change your mind, Aramis. We’ll call out his bluff.”

Aramis nodded, giving Athos a thankful look. He couldn’t smile, not quite yet, but the look was genuine. He really appreciated what Athos and Porthos were doing for him, a complete stranger. Porthos knew him only thanks to the self-defence class, where Aramis hadn’t had much of a change to get to know Porthos, seeing as Marsac would always demand where Aramis had been and Aramis needed to find a good excuse for coming home later than usual.

It hadn’t been at all helpful when Aramis had noticed how _hot_ the instructor had been. If Marsac had found out… Aramis knew the outcome would have been disastrous.

* * *

In the end, getting Aramis’ stuff was a lot easier than he’d feared. Marsac tried to argue with Aramis, but when he realised that Aramis wouldn’t budge, he turned to violence. Athos quickly went between the two, giving Aramis and Porthos time to gather Aramis’ belongings. As a last, desperate attempt to get Aramis to stay, Marsac ripped apart Aramis’ wooden crucifix. That made Aramis let out a strangled sound and fall onto his knees to gather the wooden beads.

“You should know”, Aramis whispered as he stood back up, “that my parents might want you to move away now that we’re no longer together. I suggest you do so because I won’t be smoothing out the fights you have with my parents any longer.”

Marsac snarled but chose not to answer. Instead, he turned around and said, “if you’ve left anything of yours in here, I’ll burn it. And remember, Aramis; no one will love you like I did.”

“I’m counting on that”, Aramis retorted, “seeing as you never loved me.”

Closing the door, Aramis sighed and slid the broken pieces of his crucifix in his pocket. He grabbed the strap of his guitar bag and followed Athos and Porthos outside. Somehow, he felt a little bit lighter, almost like new possibilities had opened in front of him the moment he left Marsac. He was still afraid that his decision wouldn’t hold, but the fear wasn’t as all-consuming as before.

“We did it”, Porthos said as he unlocked his car, “we actually did it. I’m proud of us.”

“Me too”, Athos agreed, nodding his head. “How are you feeling, Aramis?”

Aramis looked up, startled. “I’m not sure”, he admitted, “I feel sort of…lighter, I guess. Maybe the feeling of victory will come later. Right now, I feel just…exhausted, I guess. I’m glad I got away, but I also feel sad, oddly enough.”

Athos nodded. “Makes sense. Now, let’s get back home and unpack your things.”

Aramis nodded and sat on the backseat of Porthos’ car. He placed his guitar between his legs to make sure it wouldn’t bounce and get damaged during the ride. The guitar was one of his most valued possessions, having been a gift from his parents from before he’d even known Marsac. It was also one of the few things he owned that Marsac hadn’t broken, which made him value it even more.

“Do you think we should invite d’Artagnan and Constance to come over for dinner as well?” Athos asked suddenly, catching Aramis’ attention. “You know them, don’t you? It would be a relief for them to see you alive, I think.”

“Yes”, Aramis breathed, “my God, yes! I didn’t even think…Constance must be so angry right now.”

“Worried, more like”, Porthos suggested, “I was going to call her last night, but I forgot. I hope she’ll forgive me for forgetting to let her know that you’re okay.”

“I hope she’ll forgive me for just leaving her a suicide note like that”, Aramis whispered. He had paled somewhat upon realising that Constance could be terribly angry at him. Porthos’ attempt to calm him had fallen to deaf ears because Aramis tended to worry. A lot. To him, there was no middle ground between pleased and angry and if a person wasn’t pleased, it meant they were angry at Aramis. No such thing as worry for Aramis and his mental state existed, not after the way Marsac had treated him.

Athos sighed. “She will. Porthos and I, on the other hand, might get yelled at for a bit for leaving her and d’Artagnan in the dark. But that is alright, because Constance never stays mad for long.”

Aramis nodded, still feeling a bit terrified of Constance being angry at him. He didn’t like the prospect of being the recipient of someone else’s wrath, least of all Constance’s. For such a small woman, she was a force to be reckoned with. She knew how to throw a man off his feet, and she had used that skill in front of Aramis more than once.

Returning to Athos and Porthos’ flat, they unloaded the few boxes and bags that carried all of Aramis’ possessions. When it came to Aramis’ books, a problem presented itself: there was no room on the bookshelves for Aramis’ precious books. For a moment, everyone was quiet as they wondered what should be done with the situation.

“I guess we’re going to IKEA tomorrow”, Athos said, shaking his head. “A man must have some bookshelves, am I right? What do you think about the KALLAX series, Aramis?”

“I…I guess it’s good?” Aramis said, not having the faintest idea on how to react. “The shape is fun.”

Porthos laughed and patted Aramis’ back. Aramis didn’t quite see what fun there had been in what he’d said, but it felt nice to have made Porthos laugh. Porthos had a nice, rumbling laugh that echoed in the guest room, a laugh that made Aramis feel safe.

“I think I’ll get started on the dinner soon”, Porthos decided. “You two can just kill time while I work in the kitchen.”

With that, Porthos left the guest room, and Athos followed soon after. Aramis closed the door and sighed. Laying down on the bed, he closed his eyes. He was totally spent – the morning had been so full of feeling that it had eaten up all of Aramis’ energy. He felt powerless, like a shell of a man. He hadn’t even been able to fight Marsac, only offer him some empty threats. He had suffered for so long around Marsac, but even upon leaving him, Aramis couldn’t inflict the same pain on him as he had inflicted on Aramis.

Aramis was so _weak_. How could the others not see it?

The next thing Aramis knew was that he could smell Porthos’ cooking. He looked at the clock on the desk and saw that it was now closer to the evening. Aramis’ parents would arrive soon, and he (presumably) looked like hell. Why on earth had he allowed himself to fall asleep like that?

Getting up, Aramis noticed he was feeling off. His insides felt dry, and the air in the room felt so _cold_. He could only hope that he was not about to catch a cold. Having a quilt at hand would have been a great idea, he mused as he walked towards the kitchen.

“Did you fall asleep?” Porthos asked after taking one look at Aramis’ dishevelled form. “Sleep well?”

Aramis hummed, grabbing a glass, and pouring himself some cold water. Right after swallowing it, he shivered violently. The water was so cold, and he could feel how it travelled through him and his arguably dehydrated system.

He disliked the feeling immensely.

“I feel…sticky”, he said softly. Porthos turned around and raised an eyebrow.

“You do look a little off”, Porthos mumbled, “if you’re cold, go to the living room. Athos is basically a human thermostat so you can share some of his warmth while waiting for the guests to arrive.”

Aramis nodded and did as he was told. He snuggled close to Athos a bit uncertainly at first, but when Athos swung his arm over Aramis’ shoulders, Aramis relaxed a bit. For some time, they just sat there in silence, until Athos looked at Aramis and did a double-take.

“I thought you were Porthos”, Athos said, “I’m sorry if I overstepped your boundaries.”

Aramis shook his head. “You didn’t. I like being hugged. But only if I trust the other person.”

Athos smiled, but after a moment, he frowned. Placing his hand on Aramis’ forehead, his frown deepened. “You’re warm”, he announced, shaking his head. “Are you catching a cold?”

Aramis sighed. “I was hoping I wasn’t. Maybe it’s because I fell asleep without a quilt.”

“It might also be because you finally got away from Marsac for good”, Athos mused. When Aramis looked confused, he explained, “sometimes, after a prolonged stressful situation, some people get sick right after the situation is over. Porthos is just like that. When he studied, he would always get a fever after exams.”

Aramis imagined the situation and found himself feeling a little bit sorry for Porthos. Getting sick after every single exam sounded exhausting. Aramis couldn’t remember for sure how he’d been at school, but he did remember having been a little under the weather during every Christmas he’d spent with his family. Maybe he was also one of those people who got sick easily.

“That means you’re going to rest tomorrow”, Athos decided. “I can go to IKEA alone. Would you prefer a black shelf or a white one? The wooden colours might not suit your room very well.”

“A black one”, Aramis said, “those have more character.”

Athos nodded. “Good choice. We can measure your room later and decide how big of a shelf it needs. Deal?”

“Yes”, Aramis breathed and snuggled back to Athos’ side. This time Athos wrapped a quilt over Aramis’ shoulders to keep him warm. Aramis shivered for a bit before he started to feel warmer again. Leaning his head on Athos’ shoulder, he closed his eyes and sighed contently.

It didn’t take long for the doorbell to ring for the first time. Athos went to the door, leaving Aramis alone under the quilt. He sneezed just as Athos opened the door and let Constance and d’Artagnan inside the apartment. Aramis tried to stand up, only to find that his movements were not very coordinated at that moment.

“My goodness!” said Constance who had arrived in the living room. She hugged Aramis who was still somewhat tangled in the quilt Athos had draped over his shoulders. “Porthos really did find you. I thought I’d never see you again, Aramis. Please never do that to me again. I was so worried.”

Another pair of arms circled Aramis and Constance, signalling that d’Artagnan had joined the hug. Aramis clumsily patted the elbow he assumed that belonged to d’Artagnan who cleared his throat.

“Did you leave him for good?” d’Artagnan asked softly, which immediately made Aramis nod. “Good. You did great. I’m proud of you. So goddamn _proud_. You probably have no idea.”

Nodding again, Aramis whispered, “thank you.”

When Constance and d’Artagnan eventually let go of Aramis, he softly asked, “can I still come to work on Monday?”

“Yes, of course!” Constance said, grabbing Aramis’ hands. “You’re welcome to come back when you can. It doesn’t have to be on Monday if you need some time to adjust.”

“Good, because he is feverish and needs rest!” Athos called from the kitchen.

Constance frowned and placed a hand on Aramis’ forehead. “He’s right. You shouldn’t come to work if you are sick. Your health is more important. Right, d’Artagnan?”

“She’s right”, d’Artagnan said, nodding. “You have to rest first; work can wait. No one here is going to call you weak or useless if you get sick. We’re not Marsac. Just rest and go to work when you can.”

Aramis looked in d’Artagnan’s eyes, feeling a little bit lost again. Such kindness was very foreign to Aramis who had only known pain and fear around the only loved one he’d been allowed to see for an awfully long time. Marsac had tried to cut Aramis’ ties to his parents as well, but he’d failed time after the other.

“Yes”, Aramis agreed, “I think I will rest for a bit if I’m not better by Monday. There’s still a whole day for me to rest between today and Monday.”

Smiling, d’Artagnan nodded and patted Aramis’ back. Constance gave him a brief hug and all three of them sat down on the huge sofa. Constance helped Aramis to wrap the quilt over his shoulders once again, and he curled up – it was quickly becoming a habit of his.

“Aren’t your parents coming over as well?” Constance asked, smiling warmly. “What kind of people are they?”

Aramis breathed in, screwing his eyes shut. “My father is very level-headed. He always tries to find solutions in conflict situations. My mom…she always had horrible shouting matches with Marsac over how he treated me. I hated how afraid it made me feel. To be honest, I’m still afraid of how she will react when she sees me like this. I don’t know if she’ll be angry or happy.”

Constance placed her hand over Aramis’ shoulder. “If I had a child who had been in an abusive relationship, I would be very concerned for his wellbeing. Sad, even, but never angry. If she’s not obviously happy, it won’t mean that she is angry.”

Aramis looked at Constance with almost a heartbroken expression and was about to say something when the doorbell rang again. Aramis turned around, covering his mouth. For a moment, he feared that he couldn’t face his parents after all he’d gone through.

However, when Aramis heard his mother’s voice, he somehow knew everything was going to be alright. He barely managed to stand up before she was already in the living room. She sniffled and rushed to hug her only son.

“My dearest boy”, she whispered, “ _¡hijo mío!_ I have missed you so! Have you finally left that horrible man? Please do tell me you have. Please tell me that I can finally tell him to leave my house and my family in peace. He shouldn’t get away so easily with what he’s done to you, but if you cannot pursue the matter any further, I will support you.”

Oscar had reached the living room by the time his wife – Diana d’Herblay – had made her point clear. He gave Aramis an encouraging smile which had pretty much the opposite of the intended effect. Aramis’ jaw began trembling and he had to close his eyes in a vain attempt to block the tears. He walked over to the rest of his family and placed his hand at the back of Aramis’ neck.

“It’s alright now”, Oscar breathed, “because you’re safe now, and that’s the only thing that matters. I’m so proud of you for having left Marsac. You did leave him, didn’t you?”

Aramis nodded, still keeping his eyes closed. “Yes, papa”, he said, sniffling, “I left him.”

“Good”, Oscar breathed, “that’s good. I’m proud of you, my son. You did well.”

When a sob tore through Aramis, Oscar moved closer so he could hug both his son and wife. Diana was rubbing Aramis’ back and Oscar was speaking softly, trying to remind Aramis of his own value as a person. Aramis was trembling as whatever fears he’d had about seeing his parents once again left him. He had feared his mother’s rage, the way she got angry. Her anger was all-consuming, especially when she was worried for her children.

When Aramis eventually calmed down, he pulled away, rubbing his eyes. He felt ashamed of his outburst, but also somewhat relieved that his parents weren’t pitying him for it. Aramis hated feeling pitied, especially by his family.

“You’ve let your hair grow”, Diana said softly after Aramis had collected himself, “it looks nice.”

“It really doesn’t feel like me, though”, Aramis admitted, “I should probably get a haircut. It…it wasn’t exactly my choice to let it grow this much.”

Oscar frowned a bit. “You should do what makes you feel the most comfortable”, he said, “and just… become yourself again. I know that it might take a while, but we’ll help and support you if you’d have us.”

Aramis nodded, not having the words to respond. He was exhausted, and the fever was making his brain feel very mushy and not at all suited for thinking. He was almost hoping that Athos or Porthos would come to the living room to save him from the talking he would have to do, and when he realised that d’Artagnan was taking the lead on the conversation, he felt immensely grateful.

Constance introduced herself as Aramis’ co-worker and employer, to which Diana nodded approvingly. She had always told Aramis and his sisters that any single one of them could become anything they wanted and seeing Constance a successful woman made Diana very happy. What made her even happier was how Constance and d’Artagnan treated Aramis almost as family.

“How did you get to know each other?” Diana asked.

Constance giggled. “Well, I met Aramis when he was doing his internship in my school, back when he was still studying education. All the girls were always after him and he often hid in the crafts wing because no one expected that he’d be there. He helped me out with a lot of my projects.”

Oscar smiled. “That sounds like our boy. My mother always tried to get his sisters to take up knitting and sewing, but it was René who did. He makes wonderful sweaters and mittens.”

Aramis – who had sat down – blushed. He hadn’t been complimented in such a long time that his ability to react to nice comments and compliments had disappeared all but completely. Marsac had only said nice things about Aramis if they somehow related to Marsac himself, which wasn’t really a way to compliment someone.

“Oh yes!” d’Artagnan agreed, laughing. “He tried to teach me how to knit once but it ended in disaster. I’m much better for delivering orders, anyway.”

Before anyone could make a witty remark, Porthos emerged from the kitchen. “We’re almost done with the dinner. It’s kind of like a buffet, so you can just choose whatever you’d like to eat and eat it anywhere.”

Aramis stood up. “I’ll help”, he announced and disappeared in the kitchen before anyone could stop him. As soon as he was inside, he leaned against the wall and exhaled. His hands were shaking, and it seemed like he wouldn’t be able to help with anything.

“Too difficult?” Athos asked softly.

“Yes”, Aramis choked, “I want them to know I’m alright, but…I’m not really alright, am I?”

Athos shook his head. “It would be a miracle if you were. But that doesn’t make you weak. We all want you to recover, and we realise that it _will_ take time. If you need it, we can look for a good psychologist for you so you can begin to deal with your trauma. And no, you’re not going to _pay_ for that. You can buy us food and supplies, but a psychologist’s fee is a lot more than your salary can take. I have a dozen – or two – times more money than I can ever use on myself, so please, let me pay for the psychologist for you.”

Aramis closed his eyes and nodded. He felt so powerless and useless, but he knew that Athos was right. It was better for Athos to use his fortune to help Aramis than for Aramis to try to scrape by with his salary. He would be able to pay Athos back someday, though he didn’t yet know how.

Athos gave Aramis a soft smile. “Help me carry the food to the living room?” he asked. “You can take the salad and I’ll carry the risotto.”

“That, I can do”, Aramis whispered. He picked up the salad bowl and carried it out, placing it on the dining table where Porthos had already piled some plates and silverware for eating. All they needed now was something to drink, which Athos would bring over.

Soon everyone had gathered some food and eating it. Aramis had claimed one of the armchairs for himself, separating from the crowd. He was slowly starting to find the gathering a bit uncomfortable – there simply were too many people present. Aramis had thought of himself as a people person, but after years of not living – surviving – had made him quieter and more withdrawn.

Sitting down close to Aramis, Porthos smiled. “Everything okay, buddy?”

“The crowd feels a bit too much”, Aramis admitted quietly, “I’m starting to feel stressed. And somehow, I don’t know…hazy.”

“Sounds like you’re having an anxiety attack”, Porthos said, “you should put an ice cube in your mouth.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

Porthos stood up. “Yes. Having an ice cube in your mouth forces your body to create saliva which in turn helps to turn on the secondary bodily functions that have turned off due to anxiety! Wait here; I’ll go get you some ice water.”

Aramis looked at Porthos’ retreating back feeling like he hadn’t understood enough of what Porthos had said. He felt so confused and his brain was terribly muddy from the anxiety, so when Porthos returned with the glass of ice water, Aramis drank some of the water and popped an ice cube in his mouth.

The effect was immediate. The cold cube caught Aramis’ attention almost immediately, and the anxiety caused by the crowd disappeared from his mind. Aramis closed his eyes and allowed the ice cube to begin to dissolve in his mouth. After a few minutes, he was already feeling considerably better and not as stressed as he’d felt before. Porthos sure was full of useful tricks.

“Better now?” Porthos asked, to which Aramis immediately nodded. “Good. Tell me if you need anything else and I’ll see if I can help you with it.”

Aramis nodded again and closed his eyes. Somehow being in the darkness made him feel calmer, perhaps due to the lack of sensory input. He decided to keep his eyes closed for a bit to calm down, seeing as the ice cube alone couldn’t make him calm down completely. Porthos patted his shoulder and left him alone for a bit to keep company to the others.

When the ice cube had completely melted, Aramis opened his eyes and drank some more of the water. Turning his head, he saw that Oscar had sat close to him, looking at him very carefully.

“Is everything alright?” Oscar asked softly.

Aramis nodded. “A bit of an anxiety attack, but everything is fine now”, he muttered. “Porthos helped out. He knew a trick for calming down.”

“Good”, Oscar said, “Porthos is a great guy. I like him. He and Athos seem genuinely nice and trustworthy.”

“You mean, unlike Marsac?” Aramis whispered. His parents had always spoken ill of Marsac, which had never sat well with Aramis. Logically, he _knew_ that Marsac had been a bad person, but he’d always hated his parents’ way of speaking ill of his partner.

Oscar sighed. “He was never good to you. But since you chose him, I guess I should have been nicer about it.”

“Yes, you should”, Aramis said. He was trembling and he had to place his plate on a table to make sure his food wouldn’t fall over. The worst was that Aramis did not know if he was shaking from anger, a feeling he hadn’t been allowed to have for years, or from the fear that his father would get angry in the same way that Marsac did.

“Hey”, Oscar breathed, placing a hand on Aramis’ knee, “it’s alright. You don’t have to be afraid. I won’t get mad because we disagree. And, if you are angry, that is a good thing. You really should allow yourself to feel again.”

Aramis closed his eyes and nodded. He took another sip of the ice water and caught a new ice cube in his mouth, hoping to calm himself with it. When it didn’t seem to have any kind of an effect on Aramis, he opened his eyes, just in time to see Oscar coming in for a hug.

“Try to take deep breaths”, Oscar said, rubbing Aramis’ back. “Everything is just fine. No one is mad at you, I promise. Everything is fine.”

Aramis breathed through his nose. It took him a few attempts, but eventually he was breathing normally again and could pull away. He felt miserable, having once again made a fool of himself in front of other people.

“I’m sorry”, Aramis muttered, avoiding Oscar’s eyes. “I’m just so _fucking_ broken right now. I don’t know when or how I’ll be better but…I guess I’ll just have to try.”

Oscar shook his head, looking incredibly sad. “It’s alright. We shouldn’t have assumed you’d be doing good so soon after leaving him. Is there anything I can do to help you? If you need me to listen, you know where to find me.”

Staying silent, Aramis nodded. He was feeling agitated and nervous, maybe due to too much sensory input. For a moment, he considered hiding in the kitchen for a bit, but it felt rude to the guests. After a few moments of thinking, Aramis realised he could use going to the bathroom as an excuse and hide in his room, since the doors to the bathroom and his room were not visible from the living room.

“I need to use the bathroom”, Aramis breathed, standing up, and walking away mechanically.

Closing the door, Aramis slid down on his knees. The room was dark and silent, and Aramis could hear his gasps for breath all too clearly. His hands were shaking. Aramis closed his eyes and pressed his head against the door hard enough to ground himself. Everything was feeling too much, and Aramis didn’t know how to make it stop. Porthos probably could have helped, but he was too far away in the living room, and Aramis still didn’t have a phone he could use to call Porthos over.

Aramis curled up on the floor and cried softly. No one would hear him, unless they decided to use the bathroom that was further away from the living room, which was what Aramis was counting on. He knew how to cry quietly, a skill he’d used often while still with Marsac. For a moment, he was sure no one would find out about his quiet breakdown.

A sudden knock on the door startled Aramis. Someone had heard him, which made him feel incredibly ashamed of himself. How could he not even hide a simple panic attack from others? What a disappointment he was.

“René? What’s going on? Please let me in, _hijo mío_.”

Whimpering, Aramis sat up and opened the door just enough to let his mother in. Diana knelt down after closing the door and pulled Aramis into a tight embrace. Rocking him back and forth, Diana allowed Aramis to cry on her shoulder until all the tears were spent. When he pulled away, Diana cupped his cheek, trying to brush away some of the tears.

“What brought this on?” she asked. “Did we say something that hurt you?”

Aramis shook his head, still shaking. “No. I think…I think I’m just not alright enough to handle social gathering like this. Not yet. Everything hurts so much. I feel like such a failure all the time. All I want to do is to sleep until I’m better, but I know it doesn’t work like that.”

Diana sighed. “How about you go to sleep then? I’ll tell the others you weren’t feeling well; I’m sure they will understand. And if you need anything, I can ask Porthos or Athos to bring you something.”

Before Aramis could stop himself, he whispered, “could you stay for a bit? I…I’ll go to brush my teeth and change my clothes, if you can wait for that long, and I…”

Diana nodded. “I’ll stay. I won’t leave you alone until you feel comfortable, okay?”

Aramis nodded and rushed into the bathroom to change and do his other evening routines. He was still shaky, and he managed to knock down a few things, but luckily it didn’t catch anyone’s attention. When he returned to his room, Diana was sitting on the office chair and looking around.

“Are those boxes your books?” she asked softly.

“Yeah”, Aramis mumbled, “and whatever little I own. A few earrings, my watercolours…stuff like that. My guitar is in the living room.”

“You still paint?”

Aramis nodded. “It was a good outlet for when I was still with Marsac. The art is…it’s very dark. I’m not sure I’d like anyone to see it. I was…I didn’t want to admit it, but I was doing really bad with Marsac.”

As Aramis lay down on the bed, Diana stroked his shoulder. “I’m glad you left him, _hijo mío_ ”, she admitted. “I know you loved him once, but he did to you something that can never be forgiven. I wish I could have helped you sooner. I let you down; I’m sorry I did so.”

Aramis blinked. “It’s alright, mamá. _No podías saber lo que hacía Marsac a mí._ You only did what you thought was best for me, which is what mothers do.”

Diana sighed and kissed Aramis’ forehead. “Sleep, my boy. I’ll stay here for a bit to keep you company.”

Nodding, Aramis closed his eyes and soon fell asleep.

* * *

When Aramis opened his eyes the next time, it was to a room full of daylight. Porthos was sitting on the office chair at the desk, reading a book, and Athos was measuring the empty wall of the room and scribbling some notes onto a pad. There was a tray on the desk, full of food that was presumably breakfast for Aramis. Was it really so late that he had missed breakfast altogether?

Groaning, Aramis closed his eyes again. His head was throbbing, and his mouth felt dry in that terrible way when you were having a fever and woke up from a nap all dehydrated and miserable.

“Good morning”, Porthos said, smiling at Aramis, “or rather, good afternoon. You slept for over 15 hours. I brought some breakfast, but the tea must be cold by now. Would you like for me to get you some warm tea?”

Aramis shook his head lazily. “I’ll have the cold one”, he rasped, “I need some liquid in me ASAP.”

“Before you do”, Porthos interrupted, “let me check your fever. If it’s high, you’ll need to take some aspirin with that tea.”

Aramis nodded and let Porthos take measure his temperature. When the thermometer was done, Porthos sighed and shook his head, kind of like a worried parent. He placed his hand on Aramis’ forehead, frowning.

“Your temperature is almost at forty degrees”, he muttered, “I’ll get you some aspirin to bring the fever down.”

Aramis made an affirming sound at the back of his throat and lay back. He was feeling all sorts of terrible, but behind the grogginess and the miserable fever, Aramis felt something soft, almost _happy_ , for having woken up to see Porthos and Athos close by.

“Here”, Porthos said, having returned to the room, “I got you some aspirin. Let me help you sit up so you can swallow it.”

Porthos helped Aramis up and piled some pillows behind his back to function as a comfortable cushion for Aramis. Aramis took the pill and drank some of the cold tea immediately to swallow it. He then had some of the breakfast, until he realised he didn’t have much of an appetite.

“Alright”, Athos said, turning around to face Aramis and Porthos, “I’ll be off to buy some bookshelves. Is there anything else we’ll be needing this weekend?”

“Bring some take-out”, Porthos muttered, “I don’t think I’ll be doing much cooking today.”

Athos rolled his eyes. “I was beginning to guess you wouldn’t, seeing as you’ve been by Aramis’ side all morning. I’ll get us some Chinese take-out, with some extra garlic for you, Aramis. That should help to bring your fever down.”

“I didn’t know garlic can do that”, Aramis muttered, his voice still weak, “thank you.”

“You’re most welcome”, Athos said, “and Porthos! Make sure Aramis has good company while I’m away.”

Porthos chuckled and waved at Athos to get him going. Aramis waved too, but his gesture was a lot lazier, seeing as he was not at his best at that moment. Closing his eyes, Aramis sighed.

“Not feeling stellar?” Porthos asked.

“No”, Aramis groaned, “not at all. This is a bit frustrating, to be honest.”

“I can only imagine. Try to rest; I’ll stay with you.”

Aramis snuggled deep into the cushions and sighed. Porthos returned to his book but would occasionally put his hand on Aramis’ forehead to check his temperature. Hiding behind the quilt, Aramis felt himself blushing – the way Porthos just appeared in Aramis’ space made him feel all fluffy inside. Porthos’ entire existence felt safe and comforting in a way no one had ever felt to Aramis. Marsac had felt cold and distant, and Aramis’ other friends…well, only Isabelle had understood his need for hugs and gentle touches.

“Would you like to listen to some music?” Porthos asked after a while. “The silence is kind of bothering me. Do you have anything you’d like to listen?”

“Vivaldi”, Aramis breathed, “ _The Four Seasons_. It’s very calming. A friend of mine used to play it on piano when we were young, and things were easier. I wonder how she’s doing nowadays.”

Porthos smiled. “That’s a good choice. Wait here; I’ll bring my laptop here to play the music.”

“Can’t go anywhere even if I wanted to”, Aramis reminded Porthos, making him laugh as he left Aramis’ room. The booming laugh could be heard all the way from the living room, which made Aramis smile – or smirk. He wasn’t that good at smiling yet.

Returning to Aramis’ room, Porthos began to play the music on Spotify. Closing his eyes, Aramis listened to the familiar tune of strings describing the feeling of springtime. He could almost remember the afternoons that he stayed at Isabelle’s home and she played _The Four Seasons_ to him on her mother’s piano. It all seemed so distant, almost like another life.

“This feels very nostalgic”, Aramis whispered, “nostalgic and…safe. Feels almost odd to feel so safe.”

Porthos brushed Aramis’ forehead. “That means we’ll have to make that a new normal for you, right?” he asked softly. “Can’t have you feeling all unsafe in your new home. Athos would not like that, and neither would I.”

Aramis nodded. Calling Athos and Porthos’ apartment _his new home_ made his chest feel light, almost happy, in a way he hadn’t felt for so long. Perhaps it was just the fever talking, when Aramis felt like he could become anything, as long as he got to stay with Porthos.

* * *

Aramis eventually recovered from his flu, and the routines of the three men began to form soon after. Aramis worked in Constance’s handicraft store and began to give classes on knitting and sewing to kids. Most of the participants were girls, but seeing as Aramis was the teacher, a few boys from the neighbourhood took it up as well.

Aramis got a haircut and traded his shoulder-length hair to a simpler hairdo – not quite short like Porthos’ hair, but short enough that Aramis no longer could tie his hair up. The haircut seemed to make him a lot happier and himself.

In addition to the changes Aramis did with his outside looks, he somehow seemed to relax more. He wasn’t as uptight and quiet after a month or so, even though he often got bouts of sadness which often got remedied by Athos’ secret tea recipe and a tight hug from Porthos. When he was happy, he would play his guitar and sometimes sing under his breath, which made Porthos feel almost like in love. Aramis’ soft voice that carried the tunes of his favourite songs was something Porthos had never quite heard before. It was unique and it made Porthos feel like he was dreaming.

(Well, not that he would ever admit that to Athos, who had started to look at him funny.)

One chilly October evening, about two and a half months after the fateful day Porthos had found Aramis on that bridge, Aramis did not come home at the usual time. His knitting class ended at six, and usually he would have been at home half an hour later. When he was nowhere to be seen by seven, Porthos grew worried.

“I wonder if something’s happened”, he muttered, mostly to himself. “Aramis usually lets us know if he doesn’t come home at the normal time. Should I call him, Athos?”

Athos sighed. “To be fair, I think we should at least message him”, he admitted, “but I don’t want to come off as controlling. I don’t want him to feel like he should never do anything spontaneous. Do we know what Marsac did or said to Aramis when they were together? I don’t want to remind Aramis of those times.”

Porthos groaned. “You’re right.”

“I’ll message him”, Athos said after a moment. “Just something neutral, like _is everything alright?_ ”

Porthos nodded and watched as Athos typed the message into their group chat. Of course, there was no immediate reply, but the fact that a text was sent was somewhat calming to Porthos. The knowledge that Aramis would know that they were worried made him feel better, which was a bit contradictory.

Suddenly Athos’ phone rang. He rushed to answer, and his worried expression morphed into that of a surprise. Aramis’ mother was calling him for some reason, which in itself was somewhat alarming.

“ _What?_ ” Athos asked, sounding alarmed. “You mean – where is he now? Yes, we will go see him. Did they tell you how it happened? Sure, we’ll do so. Thank you for letting us know. We’ll stay with him until you get to the hospital. Bye.”

Porthos frowned. “What was that about?”

“Aramis got hit by a car”, Athos explained as he rushed to get his keys, car keys, and wallet. “He’s in a hospital now; it was a hit-and-run case. Madame d’Herblay asked us to stay with him until she and Aramis’ father get there.”

Porthos followed Athos, shocked. Someone had hit Aramis and left him there, injured? Porthos nearly felt ill at the thought – how someone could do something as horrible was beyond him. Even as he sat in Athos’ car, he felt like he hadn’t quite understood what had happened. Would Aramis be alright? Was he seriously injured? Athos had said nothing about that.

“He should be alright”, Athos said, having noticed Porthos’ silence. “Diana said he was awake but needed company. Apparently, he’d had a panic attack.”

“Oh God”, Porthos muttered. Aramis was alone in the hospital and he’d had a panic attack. Imagining the situation, Porthos definitely felt sick to his stomach. Aramis, suffering and alone. The thought was simply too much to bear.

“We’re almost there; I’ll drop you off at the entrance and go look for a parking spot”, Athos said, “you go and find Aramis.”

Dropping Porthos off by the hospital, Athos drove away in search for a parking spot. Porthos rushed inside to ask the receptionist for Aramis’ whereabouts. He was directed to a room on the second floor since Aramis would have to stay in the hospital for the night.

Aramis had bandages around his head – had he sustained a head injury? – and his left arm was in a cast. He was drowsing off; he had tear tracks on his face that must have been from the panic attack. Porthos grabbed a chair and moved to sit by Aramis’ side, grabbing his right hand and, without thinking, kissing Aramis’ knuckles.

“Hey”, he breathed as Aramis turned to look at him, “how are you?”

Blinking, Aramis tilted his head rather owlishly. “Sore. Sore, but alive. Where’s Athos?”

“ _Shit!_ ” Porthos scrambled to fish his phone out of his pocket so he could text Athos Aramis’ room number. In his haste, he had completely forgotten about anything else than Aramis. “He had to park the car. He’ll be here as soon as he can.”

Aramis’ eyes softened and he gave Porthos a small smile. “Hold my hand?” he asked. “I liked that. We should do more of that.”

Porthos grabbed Aramis’ hand and, in his hurry, dropped his phone on Aramis’ bed. Aramis bit his lip to stifle a chuckle as he looked deep into Porthos’ eyes. Was Porthos really noticing only now how beautiful Aramis was when he smiled? Unbelievable.

“That’s a good idea”, Porthos whispered, “holding hands. Makes you feel safe, right?”

Aramis squeezed Porthos’ fingers, still smiling. “It does. I feel safe around you and Athos. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much the two of you have helped me. Thank you. Thank you for pulling me off that bridge, Porthos.”

Porthos found himself feeling very emotional suddenly. For the first time during the months Aramis had lived with Athos and Porthos, he was _thankful_ for having been saved. Porthos wasn’t sure when the apathy had been traded for the thankfulness, but knowing it was gone made him happy beyond measure. It was a proof of Aramis’ recovery, no matter how small a step it might seem.

“I’m glad I got to you in time”, Porthos breathed, “that day, I had a feeling something was off when I saw you. I…I was afraid I wouldn’t get to you quick enough.”

Before Aramis could answer, a soft cough startled both him and Porthos. Turning to look at the door, they saw Athos who had finally found a parking spot. Porthos blushed furiously when he realised that Athos had probably heard some of his words to Aramis.

Grabbing a chair, Athos joined the two by Aramis’ bed. “Sorry it took me so long to get here”, he said, “how are you?”

“Sore, but alive”, Aramis answered. “I’m just glad that you two are here. I felt unsafe alone; I think the car that hit me was Marsac’s. I hit my head and I can’t remember the license plate exactly but…I’m pretty sure it was him.”

Porthos squeezed Aramis’ fingers. “Hey, you’re safe with us”, he whispered, “we’ll stay with you until your parents get here; no one goes through us. That bastard will not hurt you if I have any say in that.”

Blinking his eyes, Aramis nodded. He clearly was more shaken than Porthos had realised. It made Porthos want to kick himself; how had he not understood to ask if Aramis had recognised the car? He had only talked of his own feelings and ignored Aramis’ completely. Oh, what a _moron_ he could be. Pressing the back of Aramis’ hand against his own cheek, Porthos sighed.

“Do you need us to call the police?” Athos asked softly.

Aramis shook his head. “The nurses said they had alerted the police; apparently I’ll be questioned later today after I’ve had time to rest.”

“Good”, Athos said, nodding. “We can stay with you until then. You won’t have to be alone.”

“Thank you”, Aramis breathed.

Porthos was still holding Aramis’ hand. It felt almost like that by letting go of Aramis’ hand, he would also be letting go of Aramis forever. His existence was so fickle sometimes, as if he were afraid of being happy around others. Was it because he was afraid of getting together with someone like Marsac again, or because he didn’t feel like he deserved happiness? Then why did he allow Porthos and Athos so close? Was it because he secretly thought that Porthos and Athos were the only safe people around him, those that did not love him and thus could not hurt him?

Having fallen to his thoughts, Porthos almost didn’t realise that two police officers had entered the hospital room and were talking to Aramis. Athos tried to nudge Porthos to make him understand that they’d have to leave the room to give Aramis some privacy.

“Porthos!” Athos hissed. “We have to go.”

Porthos blinked and only then did he understand what was happening. He squeezed Aramis’ fingers one last time and vacated his seat for the police officer to take. He followed Athos outside and, as the door closed, sighed.

“You love him.”

Porthos looked at Athos, surprised. Athos was looking Porthos in the eye, almost sad. Athos had always been intuitive, and he’d understood people’s feelings maybe better than the people themselves, but the fact that he’d realised Porthos’ feelings before Porthos himself felt unbelievable. How was Porthos supposed to react?

“I guess you’re right”, Porthos said softly. “I think I’ve loved him for a while now.”

Athos sighed. “You should tell him. Maybe knowing that someone else loves him would be good for him.”

Porthos shook his head. “I know. I know I should tell him, but I’m afraid. What if telling him scares him off and he runs away? What if his mind locks down in trying to keep him safe? What if I say something bad that sets him off and I cause a panic attack? What if he doesn’t love me back?”

Rolling his eyes, Athos sighed again. He looked at Porthos like he’d grown another head or a pair of horns – quite like Porthos felt at that moment – and shook his head. Something in his eyes said that if Porthos didn’t go and talk with Aramis, there would be _consequences_. Porthos did not know what kind of consequences they would be, but those were sure to exist. As small as Athos was, it did not make him any less terrifying of a man. He, if anyone, could make Porthos suffer the consequences of not having a conversation with Aramis.

“Fine”, Porthos said, holding up his hands in defence, “fine. I’ll go talk to him when the cops go.”

“Good”, Athos replied, “I’ll go to that café nearby and buy something for us all to drink. I might stay a while. When I get back, you better have talked with Aramis, or else.”

Porthos nodded. Sometimes he hated Athos’ intuitiveness, even though it usually proved to be useful at the end of the day. He hated the fact that he would have to have a difficult conversation with Aramis, one that could end their friendship for good.

He didn’t want his friendship with Aramis to end.

As the police officers left Aramis’ room, Porthos waited for a moment, gathering himself. He would just spill it out and then be done with it. It wouldn’t be fair for Aramis to keep his feelings a secret. Porthos could do it.

Entering the room, the first thing Porthos noticed was Aramis’ defeated expression. Whatever the cops had said had probably made him sad again. Porthos hated seeing Aramis so sad, especially when he was in such a vulnerable position on his hospital bed.

“Hey”, Porthos breathed, grabbing Aramis’ hand again as he claimed the chair next to Aramis. “Athos went to a café to get us something to drink and eat. I wanted… _needed_ to talk to you.”

“Oh?” Aramis looked lethargic as he turned to meet Porthos’ eyes. “What is it?”

“The thing is”, Porthos said, looking down in shame, “that I like you. A lot. I like you very much. I…I don’t want this to spoil our friendship. You don’t have to give me an answer right away. I just…it would have been wrong to not tell you that I like you. I didn’t want you to live under the impression that you’re unlovable.”

Aramis squeezed Porthos’ fingers, which made Porthos look Aramis in the eye. He looked lost, so terribly lost that it hurt Porthos. Aramis looked so sad and alone and Porthos was only adding to those feelings, making Aramis have to deal with a prospect of a romance too soon after Marsac. It had been idiotic for Porthos to even consider confessing to Aramis.

“I can’t reciprocate”, Aramis whispered, “not now. The whole deal with Marsac…it’s too recent, if you get what I mean.”

“Yeah”, Porthos said, feeling defeated, “totally. Makes sense.”

“But”, Aramis began, “I do like you.”

Porthos’ eyes widened. This was a possibility he hadn’t considered. He had thought that Aramis would not like Porthos back, to say it simply. He had expected Aramis to reject the prospect of romance altogether, not to say that he did like Porthos.

“What?” Porthos breathed.

“I can’t reciprocate yet”, Aramis said, “but I like you. That much I can admit. I’m not comfortable with having another relationship yet, because I’m afraid it’ll start repeating the pattern…that I’ll become like Marsac. I need to work through my issues first, but…if you could just wait for me, we could…you know, be together, I think. I’d like to be with you, but I can’t, not right now.”

“I’ll wait!”

This time it was Aramis’ turn to look up and face Porthos whose eyes had grown teary. He was smiling widely and holding Aramis’ hand against his cheek. A tearful laugh escaped Porthos as he kissed Aramis’ knuckles again.

“I’ll wait”, Porthos whispered, “months, even years, if you need me to. I didn’t think…I couldn’t even imagine that you’d like _me_. I’m just a fumbling and bumbling fool with a big heart and…god, I really love you.”

Aramis moved his hand a bit to be able to wipe Porthos’ tears off with his thumb. Porthos was still holding his hand and gave his knuckles another kiss before deciding to kiss Aramis’ forehead as well. Aramis let out a soft chuckle – his version of a laugh, as such an expression of feeling was still a bit foreign to him.

“Thank you”, Aramis breathed, squeezing Porthos’ hand, “thank you.”

Porthos smiled and pressed Aramis’ hand against his cheek again. Aramis closed his eyes and began to hum a melody Porthos did not recognise. He had been humming a lot as of late, mostly when he was feeling happy, or whatever his definition of happiness meant. It wasn’t what Porthos called happy, not when Aramis’ chest still ached sometimes, but it was an improvement to the way he’d felt with Marsac. He was warmer and more open than before, which Porthos considered a real victory – one of the ways Aramis had shielded himself had been to appear uninterested of anything.

“So, I take it you two had your talk?”

Once again, Athos managed to startle Aramis and Porthos, who instantly turned to look at the doorway. Blushing, Porthos nodded. Aramis, who had been blissfully unaware of the conversation between Athos and Porthos, looked at the two, confused.

“How does Athos know?” Aramis asked, still alternating between looking at Athos and then Porthos.

“He’s an intuitive bastard who reads me like an open book”, Porthos muttered, still blushing, “that’s how. I’m surprised he doesn’t read you with the same accuracy as me, or perhaps he just chose not to tell me to make things more interesting for himself.”

Sitting down, Athos raised an eyebrow. “Now you’ve lost me.”

Aramis accepted his mug of hot cocoa, and said, “I made a deal with Porthos. He promised to wait for me to be recovered enough to be with him.”

It was Athos’ turn to wildly turn his head from side to side as he tried to understand Aramis’ words. First Athos looked at Aramis, then at Porthos, then back at Aramis, feeling none the wiser. After a moment, Aramis couldn’t help but smirk mischievously.

“The feelings are mutual?” Athos asked, still looking very flabbergasted. “I only thought that Porthos…I hadn’t even realised.”

“They are”, Aramis said softly and drank some of his cocoa. “I’m not mentally well enough to have a relationship now, but the feelings are mutual. I don’t want to turn into a Marsac in any future relationship I have, so I asked Porthos to wait for me until I feel confident enough that I won’t be a monster when…when we get together.”

“I see.” Athos nodded approvingly. “But don’t force yourself to wait forever. Confidence isn’t built in an instant and you shouldn’t deprive yourself of happiness only because you feel like you lack confidence. That is no way to live.”

Aramis nodded, staying silent.

After that, the trio didn’t speak much until Aramis’ parents reached the hospital. Diana immediately rushed to her son, kissing his forehead, and cursing the culprit very colourfully in Spanish. Oscar allowed his wife to be angry as he waited in the doorway with a young woman who looked a lot like Aramis. Her face was a bit rounder, but her eyes were just as kind and warm as Aramis’.

“Good evening”, she said to Porthos and Athos as she entered the room, “I’m Mercedes, René’s sister. Are you the two who live with him now?”

“Yes”, Porthos said, shaking Mercedes’ hand, “I’m Porthos, and the shorter guy is Athos. I originally knew Ara…René from the self-defence class I taught. We, uh, we got along well.”

Mercedes smiled and Athos, trying to hide it, rolled his eyes at Porthos’ explanation. How was he supposed to keep anything secret if he blurted out stuff like that?

“It’s nice to finally meet you”, Mercedes said, “thank you for helping my little brother out of that terrible relationship he lived in. It’s only been some months, but he already looks so much happier than he ever did with Marsac. He was not good for René. No matter how well he deceived us at first, or how much we liked him. He was a terrible person and I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

“It’s not your fault”, Porthos told, trying to sound compassionate, “people like that are too good at deceiving others. The most important is that you now get to be close with your brother again.”

“You’re right”, Mercedes agreed, “I’m just…angry about what he did to René. My little brother used to be so happy and kind, but now he just looks melancholy. It’s odd.”

“Recovery is a long process”, Athos said, finally joining the conversation. “He might look melancholy now, but to us, he looks happier than a few months ago. He’s finally getting space to be himself again, which makes him look free in a way he could not have looked even a month ago. He’s doing better, I promise you.”

Mercedes nodded. “I know. It’s just…I haven’t seen him in years and now he’s bruised and looks sad…did he tell you who hit him? As in, was it an accident, or…could it have been deliberate?”

Porthos sighed. “He said it looked like Marsac’s car.”

Mercedes closed her eyes and shuddered. It had to be terrible to find out that one’s own brother wasn’t safe even after dumping the person who had been abusing him. Porthos couldn’t even imagine that feeling. Growing up, it had only been him and his mother and so, Porthos did not have any siblings, aside from maybe Athos who was almost like a brother to Porthos.

“At least we can sue him now for the hit-and-run case”, she whispered, frowning. “It’s not much of a comfort, not after what he did to René, though.”

“You’re right”, Athos said, “it is not much of a comfort, but perhaps the legal process will give Aramis some sort of closure that we cannot give him. I just hope we can keep him safe for long enough.”

“We have to”, Porthos decided, “we’ve got to keep him safe until he’s fully recovered. I can’t forgive myself if he’s hurt before…before he’s himself again.”

Both Athos and Mercedes nodded. Aramis, if anyone, deserved a life in safety. He had already suffered through more than most people and still somehow managed to come through it, although severely bent in more than just one way. Looking at Aramis, Porthos felt something he could only call pride for the way Aramis had prevailed through his hardships. He felt proud, because he had seen how low Aramis had sunk and how he’d managed to survive even that. Of course, he’d needed help with it, but that was not a sign of weakness, not in Porthos’ book.

“I think we should leave now”, Athos said after a few moments. “You need some alone time with Aramis. We’ll just tell him that we’re going and then we’ll be on our way.”

Athos quickly walked over to Aramis’ side to tell him that he and Porthos would be going home. Aramis nodded and then waved at Porthos, who awkwardly waved back. Athos rolled his eyes at the two and led Porthos out of the room and into the lift. For a while there was only silence between the two, until Athos decided to open his mouth.

“So, you’re waiting for him?”

“Yes, I am waiting for him, Athos. I damn well am waiting for him.”

“And you’re not going to elaborate?”

Porthos sighed. “What is there to say? That I love a man who was broken by the last person that claimed to love him? I want to give Aramis a chance in happiness and I would wait for _ever_ if it meant that I could give him that chance. Wouldn’t you do the same?”

Athos considered Porthos’ words carefully before answering. “I wouldn’t wait forever. I’m not patient enough, unlike you. I would wait, but not forever.”

“That’s where we’re different”, Porthos said, “I’m not necessarily patient, but I want to give Aramis a chance in happiness. Does that even make sense?”

“It does”, Athos decided, patting Porthos’ back. “It does.”

* * *

Some time later, after November had begun and the rains were attacking Paris, Athos informed the others that he would be away for the weekend. There was going to be some literature event in Le Havre and a poet he knew, by the name of Sylvie Boden, was also going to participate in a few of the panels. It meant that Athos would be there to support her, because he liked her work and, as Porthos had once said it, he really needed to get out more often than he did. This, of course, meant that Aramis and Porthos would be alone for the whole weekend.

It could prove a bit awkward, Porthos thought, although he was determined to not make it feel so.

Athos was off on Friday evening, meaning that Porthos and Aramis would have dinner alone. Porthos made some pizzas, because on Friday, it was a pizza day, as his mother had said, and Aramis suggested they watch a film together as they ate. Porthos found the idea great and told Aramis to choose the film. Having always loved science fiction and fantasy, Aramis chose one of the newer Star Trek films he hadn’t seen because they’d all come out while he’d been with Marsac.

“Star Trek?” Porthos asked as he brought their plates to the living room. “I didn’t know you like it.”

“I do”, Aramis admitted, “but I haven’t seen the new ones. I want to see if they’re any good or not.”

“Well, I think the actors are good”, Porthos said, “but the writing…it could have been better. You should tell me what you think when the film is over. Now, sit back and hit play. Or _engage_ , as some of the captains say.”

Aramis chuckled and pressed play on the remote. The film began, and Aramis grabbed his plate of pizza to eat it. Leaning his head against Porthos’ shoulder, Aramis relaxed a bit and absentmindedly chewed on his pizza.

For some reason, as they sat there, watching the film, Porthos began feeling very aware of Aramis’ presence, but not in an uncomfortable way. It felt more like those times he’d sat on the sofa with a warm cup of tea or cocoa and reading a nice message (or a letter) from a loved one. Sort of like the butterflies you got when you really felt loved. Aramis probably didn’t even know he was having such an effect on Porthos.

Without thinking much, Porthos kissed the top of Aramis’ head. He caught himself immediately, cursing his impulsiveness, but luckily – or perhaps unluckily, depending on the point of view – Aramis was too invested in watching the film to notice what Porthos had done.

“Porthos”, Aramis said disbelievingly, “did they just blow up an entire _planet_?”

“That does sound more like Star _Wars_ than Star _Trek_ , doesn’t it?” Porthos tried to joke. “But for real, I did say the writing was a bit…uh…”

“Excessively destructive”, Aramis said, finishing Porthos’ sentence. “I…I just… _wow_. Poor Spock.”

“Exactly.”

After that, it seemed like Aramis lost some of his interest in the film. He still leaned on Porthos, but his attention seemed to be all over the place. He grabbed his sketching pad, having finished his pizza, and began sketching the characters from the film. Porthos liked watching Aramis draw, so he didn’t mind. Aramis’ style was so light that sometimes it looked like the sketches could jump off the pages and become real.

“I like that Chekov”, Porthos commented, “it looks a lot like him. Well done.”

Aramis blushed. “Thanks. I like drawing him. He’s so small and sunny. The old one was much more…I don’t even know, sarcastic, I think.”

“Yeah, kind of like Athos”, Porthos agreed, “The new one is such a sunshine.”

Aramis nodded and continued drawing.

When the film was over, Porthos got up to clean up and wash the dishes. Aramis tried to offer to do it, but Porthos told him to just stay in the living room and relax. He had completely exhausted himself teaching the kids to knit on his Friday class – which was not just frequented by kids, but d’Artagnan as well! He wanted to give Constance a personalised Christmas present, and Aramis was teaching him to knit socks.

Returning to the living room after cleaning up, Porthos heard that Aramis had put on some music. Athos had collected CDs for years, and when he’d noticed that Aramis liked some of them, he had told Aramis that he could play them anytime he wanted. Porthos already did so since it often cheered up the mood a bit.

Aramis was swaying to the tune of the music, eyes closed. He almost looked peaceful as he moved around the living room, barely making any noise. For some reason, it made Porthos sad to see Aramis dance to Elton John’s _Candle in the Wind_ all alone, maybe because the lyrics reminded Porthos so much of Aramis. He had been like a candle in the wind while still with Marsac, who was the rain trying to extinguish the small flame in Aramis.

Porthos stepped closer to Aramis, brushing his fingers against Aramis’ hand. Aramis looked up and smiled at Porthos.

“Want to dance?” Aramis asked softly.

Porthos nodded and pulled Aramis close. Aramis placed his head on Porthos’ shoulder, sighing. They swayed together to the last verses of the song, as Aramis hummed it. It made Porthos’ heart feel light, just existing in Aramis’ space and being allowed to hold him close. The fact that Aramis trusted him enough to sway with him along to Elton John gave Porthos little butterflies in his stomach, and he couldn’t stop smiling.

The song changed, and unlike Porthos expected, the new song was _Rocket Man_. Aramis picked up the speed a little, trying to stay in the rhythm, which made Porthos smile. He followed Aramis’ lead and began swaying faster than before.

“You put it on shuffle”, Porthos whispered, “I like that. Keeps me on my toes.”

“Good”, Aramis said, “I like to be full of surprises.”

Porthos laughed and pressed a kiss on Aramis’ forehead. Aramis sighed and pressed himself closer to Porthos. Surprisingly, Porthos began to feel tremors going through Aramis’ body. Continuing to dance, Porthos rubbed Aramis’ back to help him overcome whatever feeling that was making him tremble like that.

“I’m sorry”, Aramis whispered, “I sometimes almost think I’m alright and then when I least expect it, I get a hug or something and I remember I’m not alright. It’s dumb, I know.”

Porthos shook his head. “It’s not dumb. You were abused and deprived of positive touch. It can fuck up a mind very quickly and leave long-lasting scars. I have not lived through what you experienced, which means I can’t know for sure what is going on in your mind.”

Aramis pulled away far enough to look at Porthos’ face. Aramis looked still so sad and lost that Porthos had to cup his cheeks and kiss his forehead again. Closing his eyes, Aramis placed his hands over Porthos’ wrists to steady himself.

“How about this”, Porthos said softly, “we could share a bed for tonight. Mine’s just big enough. I don’t mean anything sexual; just being close to one another. I just want to show you that you’re safe now. If you’d be comfortable with it, that is.”

After a moment, Aramis nodded slowly. “I feel comfortable enough, if it’s with you.”

Smiling, Porthos hugged Aramis. Aramis was still trembling slightly, but he hugged Porthos back, nonetheless. He had to stand on his toes because he was a bit shorter than Porthos. Porthos found this most endearing and hoped that Aramis would never stop doing this.

“I’m glad”, Porthos said, “I hope I don’t snore.”

“You’ll find out tomorrow”, Aramis breathed. He seemed a bit excited, which to Porthos was a good sign. Aramis was still so often uninterested about most things because he was scared of being hurt. Although logical, it often made Porthos sad. How was Aramis going to recover if he still feared getting hurt by anything he wanted to do?

The rest of the evening was uneventful. Aramis and Porthos danced some more, then had tea before going to bed. Aramis had discovered herbal tea and the wonders it did to his nerves if he drank it before bedtime. Porthos had adopted the habit in solidarity, and because it gave him more time with Aramis every day.

When going to bed, Aramis lay away from Porthos at first. The bed really was wide enough that the two of them fit there with no problem, and there still was enough space for, say, a cat. Perhaps they could get a cat – they were known to try to heal their humans by purring on them.

“You don’t have to be so far away, you know”, Porthos said, “I don’t mind cuddles.”

Aramis looked at Porthos for a moment and then snuggled to his side. Placing his head on Porthos’ shoulder, Aramis stretched his left arm over Porthos’ chest, making Porthos chuckle deep in his throat.

“This is not uncomfortable?” Aramis whispered, his eyes still rather wide. “I’m not hurting your shoulder or anything?”

Porthos smiled. “No, everything is good. This feels nice. You good?”

Aramis nodded. “I feel safe.”

Well, that was a start. It was no wonder that Aramis assessed his safety first, knowing what kind of a person Marsac had been. Porthos felt grateful to know that he was one of the people Aramis had decided was safe. At least that would mean that he had a chance to be allowed to give Aramis a better life.

“What do you reckon we’ll be doing a year from now?” Porthos asked softly. He was leaning his cheek on Aramis’ head and he wrapped his left arm loosely around Aramis’ back. “Will we be like we’re now, or will we have become something new? Will we have the same jobs we do now… _who_ will we be a year from now?”

“We’ll be together”, Aramis whispered, “I think we’ll be together a year from now. I might go back to university and study education to become a teacher. I want to support myself. I’ve talked it through with Constance, and she supports me. Do you think I could do it?”

“Yes. Yes, you most definitely could. And I would support you through it. I’ve been applying to a new job as well. I’ve been invited to a job interview for a cook’s position at a modest restaurant. What do you think about that?”

Aramis propped himself up on his shoulder to be able to look at Porthos’ face and smiled at him. He dived forward and gave Porthos a quick kiss on the lips before pulling away. He was blushing but he didn’t try to avoid Porthos’ eyes. He looked more confident than before.

“That sounds amazing”, Aramis said, “it suits you. I’ll visit the restaurant if they decide to employ you.”

“You should bring the whole gang there if I get the job”, Porthos decided, smiling widely. “Athos, Constance, d’Artagnan, your family…we have to invite my mom too. She’ll love you. Anyone who loves music and dancing is automatically loved by her. I wonder if the restaurant can fit you all at the same time.”

Aramis laughed. It wasn’t quite like Porthos’ booming laugh, but it was a _laugh_. Porthos hadn’t heard that sound before so, naturally, he pulled Aramis into a tight embrace.

“You laughed”, he whispered, “I haven’t heard that before.”

Aramis snuggled his face against Porthos’ chest. “It felt good. I should laugh more.”

“Damn right, you should.”

Aramis propped himself up against his elbows once more, looking at Porthos. Tracing his fingers over Porthos’ brow, Aramis studied Porthos’ features. Porthos smiled; he liked this new kind of closeness with Aramis. It felt good to have someone by his side.

“You know, Porthos”, Aramis breathed, “I think I’m confident enough now. I still have issues, and sometimes I’m angry, but now I know I won’t become Marsac. Do you…would you still have me? Could we be together?”

Cupping Aramis’ cheek, Porthos smiled. “Of course. I was the one who promised to wait, wasn’t I?”

Aramis leaned into the touch. “Yes. Yes, you were. For a moment, I was afraid you’d have to wait longer than you should. For a bit, I feared that I’d never be able to give you what I promised.”

Porthos wrapped his arms around Aramis’ shoulder and pulled him down to rest against his chest. Aramis nested his head between Porthos’ jaw and chest and sighed. Porthos held Aramis’ left hand, intertwining their fingers, and kissed the top of Aramis’ head.

“For me, the most important thing is that we’re together now”, Porthos said softly, “I would have waited for an eternity for you. You deserve that much, at least.”

“A few weeks ago, I would have disagreed”, Aramis whispered, “because surely I wouldn’t have warranted that much attention. I’m just me, after all.”

“Love makes men do foolish things”, Porthos said, “does it not?”

“Quite right”, Aramis agreed, smiling. “Quite right.”

It wouldn’t be easy at first, that much Porthos knew for sure. For that reason, he was ready to take baby steps, or even no steps at all, if Aramis couldn’t take them. As it was, Aramis was a far stronger man than Porthos, but he couldn’t see it yet. He needed the affirmations which Porthos would happily give him.

After all, he was a man in love, and men in love could move mountains and shield their dearest from harm.

**Author's Note:**

> Toss me some of those comments & please tell me your thoughts/opinions!


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